I, me, you, themselves and all of us.
Chemicals, electricity, and thrusts.
Quiet night, hoping the dream blends with conveyor belt life.
Will the thoughts we've made, column into grace, collections of the fragments we have caught?
Blink your screeny stare from the issue, questioning for truth makes sick.
Do as much as want can allow them, touch the glare that fakes times tick.
It's in your thinking of filled rooms and the geometry of groups. In this world of countless worlds with these shapes that please and toil around.